Angels Fall
by Ziva- Zia- Z
Summary: The first person to jump was a man, and another man was seen kissing a young woman at the window before they both jumped... AU McGiva, Tabby, written in 2011, for the 100th anniversary, in honor of the 146. 40 chapters, ready to be uploaded; should be quick and easy.- Licia
1. Chapter 1

**Angels Fall**

 **Rifiuto: N** **on Miriena**

 **Summary: The first person to jump was a man, and another man was seen kissing a young woman at the window before they both jumped... AU McGiva, Tabby, written** **in 2011, for the 100th anniversary, in honor of the 146. 40 chapters, ready to be uploaded; _should_ be quick and easy.- Licia**

 _April 18th, 1912_

 _New York Harbor_

 _Manhattan Island_

 _New York_

He searched, frantically, for her as hundreds upon hundreds of survivors moved down the planks to stable land; the hundreds upon hundreds of faces wore shocked expressions, blankets of harsh wool wrapped about their shoulders, their only surviving possessions what they carried on their backs.

 _Come on, where is she? She has to have survived._

Finally, he saw her, in nothing but a dressing gown and slippers, her black coat covered by a blanket that someone had draped over her shoulders.

Relief flooded him, and he pushed his way through the crowd, hurrying towards her. As he got closer, he realized that she was clutching tight to a familiar little girl with red curls that fell about her small face. Once he reached them, he embraced her, kissing her firmly on the head. "Thank God you're okay." She clung to him, fresh tears in her eyes. "Where are Jethro and Shannon?" But when he pulled away, he saw the heartbreak in her gaze. She shook her head. "No. _No!_ "

"Mr. Gibbs, he... he tried hard to... to convince Miss Shannon to get in the boat, but... but she refused to leave him. So he... he handed her over to me and ordered me to get in the boat. Told me to... to raise her as though she were my own. How could I not obey, Tony?"

The young Italian swallowed thickly, closing his eyes before turning his gaze to the child clutching tightly to her skirts. The girl looked as though she had been to Hell and back, the horrors she had witnessed, the screams she'd heard as people struggled to flee the ship, or to survive the freezing temperatures of the Atlantic... followed by the deafening silence as hypothermia soon stole their voices from the thousands of souls floating on the water's surface... they had stolen her voice from her, leaving only the silence of what she'd witnessed in its wake.

After a moment, he knelt down to the girl's level. "Hello, Miss Kelly. Remember me, _Tesoro_?" The girl studied him before looking up at the woman, who gave her a tiny smile. Slowly, she knelt down as well, joining him at her level.

"You remember Mr. DiNozzo, don't you, Kelly?" The girl met her gaze. "You remember Tony?" Silence met her, before the girl turned back to him and curtsied, before wrapping her arms around his shoulders. The man seemed to relax as he hugged her, pressing a kiss to her head before standing and scooping the girl up.

As the trio left the dock, moving through the throng of worried family members and eager reporters alike, Tony turned to her.

"We will stop by to see Ducky before we go home."

* * *

Dr. Mallard- or 'Ducky' as the good doctor insisted on being called- had been quick to suggest a few days of rest for the two survivors, and that time would help the child heal. But both adults knew that something as horrible as watching the grandest ship in the world sink beneath the freezing waters of the Atlantic, with her parents still on-board, would not heal, no matter how much time the child was given. Yes, the physical trauma would heal, her voice would return, but the mental and emotional trauma would be a wound that would never leave the child.

They knew from experience.

"Something is wrong in the universe."

"What do you mean, Tony?"

He looked up from the newspaper that lay atop the table; _Titanic Sinks- Great Loss of Life Estimated._

"We have lost our family, Abigail." She sighed, getting up from the armchair by the fireplace, marking her place in the book she'd opened but hadn't been able to continue reading.

"You know I detest when you call me that." She smiled, trying hard to lighten the mood, but he gave no indication that he heard her. After a moment, she knelt down to meet his gaze, reaching out to take his hands in hers. "Talk to me, Tony. Please." Slowly, he met her gaze, though she knew he wasn't seeing her so much as he was seeing the past. He was seeing what they'd lost a year ago.

Who they'd lost a year ago.

Slowly, she reached up, brushing her fingers over his cheek. "I can still smell it, Abby." She remained silent, allowing him to talk. "I can still see it, and taste the screams. I can still hear the thud as they hit the ground."

She swallowed, choking on the tears that clocked her throat. "Tony-"

"I can still see them at the window. I can still see her hair as it streamed behind her, loose from it's braid..."

 _"Tony, don't."_ Abby choked, tears gathering in her eyes before they slid down her cheeks.

He met her gaze briefly, before kissing her palm and getting up. She watched him, robotic in his movements, walk towards the window in the living room, and lift it up. He leaned against it, staring out into the sky beyond, before moving his gaze down to the street below. Slowly, she stood, joining him; in that one moment, she was back, watching the disaster that had changed their lives forever, that had first ripped their family apart.

The smoke and flames, rising to the beautiful blue above their heads, the uniformed men with their ladders and nets and fire hoses; their feeble attempts at saving lives costing more than they would know. The crowd gathered to watch as men and women alike, all young innocence and optimistic dreams, streamed from the upper floors, some with their clothing on fire, others with their heads burning, their skin turning black. The screams, filled with fear and begging desperately for help, that echoed, even after their bodies thudded against the pavement.

She curled into his side, sobs escaping her throat. "Will we never all be together again?" He pulled her closer, kissing her head, knowing that she wasn't asking him, but the heavens above. But while Abby had shifted her gaze to the skies that greeted them from the window, he still saw that long ago day in March- the fire, the smoke, the death.

And amid it all, amid the fire and the smoke and the death, was a kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rifiuto: N** **on Miriena**

 _November, 1909_

 _Manhattan Island,_

 _New York_

So _this_ was America.

She held tight to her one worn suitcase, searching for any sign of her brother. Ari was supposed to have met her once she set foot on the dock, but she didn't see him. Then again, it had been four years since she'd last seen her older brother, and people often changed in that long amount of time.

 _You had._

Since her parents had sent Ari to America back in aught-six, she had longed for her chance to follow- for the stories Ari told in his letters, of how a person could become anyone they wished in such a country, how they could make a living with steady work, how they could build a life for themselves, had entranced her, and she had often curled up beside her little sister in their bed, dreams of streets paved in gold and beautiful dresses and endless parties and dancing with handsome men taking shape in her head...

She moved out of the way, holding her things closer to her. After spending hours in the inspection station on Ellis Island, she was glad to be back on solid ground. The process had been frightening, to say the least, especially when she'd watched the staff run their fingers through hair and over skin, and had shrunk back herself when they'd moved to touch her, checking for lice and signs of various diseases. While others had been turned away, facing deportation back to their homelands, she had passed inspection.

Deemed healthy enough to enter America, she had then waited while her papers were processed before finally being allowed to exit the island and make her way into the Island of New York. Now, all she had to do was find her brother-

Someone slammed into her, sending her to the ground. When she looked up, she found the sun casting the person in shadow as they stood over her. _"Tá mé buartha."_ She furrowed a brow, unfamiliar with the language escaping the young man's throat. Her mouth opened, but soon she watched him hold out a hand, and suddenly she understood. Without a word, she accepted it, allowing him to help her to her feet, before watching as he knelt down and grabbed her suitcase, holding it out to her.

A moment passed before she took it, giving him a tiny smile. _"Toda."_ He furrowed a brow, this time the one confused, and she blushed. Clearly he didn't speak Hebrew, and she didn't speak... whatever language he spoke.

 _"Deartháir!"_ His head snapped up, and he quickly scanned the crowd coming down the gangplank. A smile lit up his features, and he turned back to her, nodding once before disappearing into the crowd. She watched him go, finally spying the person who had called to him; a young girl, of perhaps no more than ten or twelve, a couple years older than her own sister. The girl threw her arms around his neck as he scooped her up and spun her around quickly before setting her down. There was also an older couple with the girl- their parents, from the looks of it and the way they embraced the boy.

 _No, young man_ , she corrected, for he appeared to be perhaps a couple years older than she herself. She continued to watch as his parents embraced him; clearly, this separation was no over, culminating in a happy reunion.

"Zivaleh." She turned, tearing her gaze forcefully away from the young man and his family, to find her own older brother standing before her. She furrowed a brow; it had been a long time and she didn't recognize the man standing before her-

 _"Ari?"_ But when he smiled, she knew it to be him, for despite the years of separation, his dark eyes sparkled with mirth and his smile was still the same as when they'd been children. "Ari!" She rushed to him, her arms going around his neck as he lifted her off the ground and spun her around, evoking a laugh from her throat. When eventually he set her back on her feet, his lips found her forehead, and he chuckled.

"How old have you become now, little sister?" She blushed, before quickly lifting her chin.

"I am not little anymore, Ari. I am sixteen." He shook his head with a laugh at her defiance, before taking her suitcase and slipping an arm through hers.

"Oh, my Ziva, so full of fire." He led her from the dock, but she turned back; the young man she'd been watching was gone, having taken his family from the docks to what would be their home somewhere in this new land.

* * *

The apartment she was now to call home was small; smaller than the room she shared with Tali back home, even. Unlike most apartments, where there were multiple families crammed into one apartment, this would be strictly for her and her family, when her parents and sister finally came to join them. Once the door shut behind them, Ari set her suitcase down and went to her, watching as she looked about the small kitchen and living room; the tiny back bedroom would be for their parents, and the siblings would share the living room, soon hanging up curtains to divide the room into smaller sections when they slept. But for now-

"It is not much, but it will do for now. And it will do when _Ima_ and _Abba_ come over with Tali, once I can save enough money to send back to them." She turned to face her brother; for the first time, since he had come to collect her from the dock, she realized just how much he had grown up. He'd been a mere boy of eighteen when she'd bid him goodbye- and she a girl of fourteen- nearly fifteen- and now, here he was, a slender man all of twenty years old, who had worked and scrimped and saved enough money to buy her passage to this land of gold.

"It is..." She looked around, before slowly untying her headscarf. "different, just as you are different, Ari." He made his way towards her, pulling her into his arms. Her headscarf fell, revealing the dark braids she'd pulled her hair back into.

"Our life will be different, Zivaleh. We are in America now, and soon _Ima_ and _Abba_ and Tali will be with us, and we will be a family again." He gently knocked her chin, making her smile. "Once we are all together again, things will change, Zivaleh. You will see. But first, we need to get you settled in America."


	3. Chapter 3

**Rifiuto: N** **on Miriena**

 _December, 1909_

 _Manhattan Island,_

 _New York_

He pulled his coat closer; in the month since his family had finally come to America, he'd found the ever-increasing strain to support them was getting tighter. When they'd been back in Ireland, he hadn't worried as much, because he'd been able to send as much money back as he could and still have enough for the few meager basics for himself, but now that they were here-

Well, let's just say that winter was ten times more frightening with four people living in the small, one room apartment in Hell's Kitchen than it was with just one.

Thank the Lord above his mother had been able to find work as a seamstress, and his father had started a job down at the docks. And Sarah, even at eleven, had found work in a textile factory in the Garment District, where she would often dash beneath the dangerous machines to knot broken threads; so far, Sarah had been lucky, and returned home with all her limbs intact.

And to be honest, he was glad that Sarah was working in the Garment District as opposed to working in the Village district, as it was called. He was glad that Sarah wasn't working in the Asch building, on the top three floors. For once, he was glad Sarah was still a child; while conditions for children in textile mills were bad, they were better than what he faced every day.

At least the doors and windows weren't locked. At least the children who worked the textile mills were allowed small breaks for water, unlike the countless men and women who worked at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory for six dollars a week.

Yes, thank the good Lord above Sarah was still a child.

* * *

He looked up in time to grab the girl standing in front of the elevator, acting like she'd never seen one before.

Because, clearly, she hadn't.

She looked up as she stumbled into his embrace, finding it hard to pull away as others entered the elevator and the door slid shut. " _Tá mé buartha._ " He shifted, moving as far away from her as he could as was proper in a crowded elevator. She started; the voice sounded familiar-

But soon, the elevator doors opened and everyone streamed out, heading for their work stations, including the young man who'd spoken to her. A moment passed, before he stopped, turning back to look at her. She bit her lip, unsure of what to do or where to go, silently grateful to be in a new place, as opposed to the factory she had worked at before, twisting fabric and wire into flowers for fancy hats. When Ari had found her this job- for better pay than the measly two dollars a week she'd been making at the other place a month ago- she was certain she'd been dreaming.

However, she soon found herself being shoved into a chair, shown how to snip threads from finished shirtwaists, and drop them into a basket; when she glanced up, the young man had disappeared, heading up to the ninth floor, taking every ounce of the sunshine that had surrounded him that day with him.

* * *

When the day ended and they were allowed to go home, he rushed down the stairs, winding the tattered scarf Sarah had given him six years earlier before he left for America- the day his parents had decided that he would have a chance at building a life even though he'd been no more than a child of merely thirteen; in Ireland, his survival had been slim, and in America, he'd had a chance, at least.

His first job had been working in the Garment District, doing as Sarah was currently doing; darting under the heavy mule spinners to fix broken threads and escaping just in time to avoid being crushed to death. As he'd gotten older, he'd quickly proven himself a hard worker, and had left the textile mill at sixteen, taking a job at the Triangle Factory; he now was a collar- making six dollars a week, something he should be- and was- grateful for.

The cold of a New York winter hit him square in the chest as he exited the building; even though six years had passed, he still was not used to such a shock. As he headed across the street, he stopped, seeing the girl standing on the sidewalk, in front of the doors. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was the girl from the elevator, and after a moment, he turned on his heel, deciding it was better to head home and forget about her; clearly she was waiting for someone-

He stopped, kicking himself silently as he glanced once more over his shoulder. In the darkness, she hadn't moved, and he silently cursed _Da_ for having raised him to be a gentleman, despite their low standing. Without a word, he turned, heading back towards the girl, who looked up as he approached. They stood in silence for several minutes, before he spoke. " _Dul abhaile_?" She furrowed a brow.

 _Okay, try something else. Ask her for her name._

He swallowed, studying the girl. She looked no more than sixteen or so, with long dark hair pulled back in two braids and wide dark eyes. " _Cad is ainm duit?_ " This time, she cocked her head, and he took a deep breath, speaking in slow English. "What... is... your... name?" He sighed, resting a hand against his chest. "Timothy." One slender, dark eyebrow rose. "I'm Timothy."

Minutes passed in deep silence, as she glanced from his hand to his face, trying to connect the action to the phrase. _Your name! He is asking for your name!_

"Are you Italian?"

She shook her head. Itali- _oh, Eetalkeet!_ "No." She reached up, finding the simple necklace she wore around her neck, the Jewish Star dangling from the chain.

"J... Jewish? You're Jewish?" He asked, nodding towards the star, and she nodded.

" _Ken_. Ziva." She repeated his action, resting her hand against her chest as she introduced herself, and he smiled softly. Yes, he was the boy who'd run into her that day at the docks.

"May I walk," This time, he made a movement with his fingers as he spoke, simulating walking. "you home?" She watched him for a moment, before slowly mimicking the action, giving herself time to connect words and actions of this strange, new language. _He wants to walk you home!_

When she finally realized what he was asking, she nodded.


	4. Chapter 4

**Rifiuto: N** **on Miri** **ena**

 **Thanks to MusicWithinMe for reviewing 1 and 3, Qoheleth for reviewing 1, and Reader aka Sun Samurai for reviewing 1, 2 and 3.**

 _Mid-February, 1910_

 _Manhattan Island,_

 _New York_

Timothy walked her home from work from that moment on; occasionally, he would walk her to work, but most often, Ari would do that, dropping her off at the factory just as Timothy arrived from having taken Sarah to work in the Garment district. And despite the language barrier, the two seemed to find kindred spirits in each other; she taught him Hebrew and he taught her Irish Gaelic.

So it was one winter-y evening that the pair were leaving work when Timothy stopped, his gaze going to a flyer taped to a window. Ziva turned to him, confused. She joined him, studying the words written on it; they were foreign, written in a strange language she didn't understand and couldn't figure out.

English.

She turned to him, furrowing a brow. He beckoned her closer, and she joined him, stepping closer to avoid being stepped on as people passed by. Their gazes met, and after a moment, he pointed to one of the words. " _Hata_." She furrowed a brow. "Hat." When she continued to stare at him like he'd lost his mind, he removed his threadbare scarf from around his neck, draping it over his head. "Hat." She continued to stare at him, and after a moment, he took her hand, tugging her further down the sidewalk towards a display in the store window. As he returned the scarf to drape around his neck, he pointed to the hats on display. "A hat. See?"

The teenager looked between him and the display, her mind slowly putting two and two together. After a moment, she pointed to the display. "H... ha... t. H... a... t. Hat?" She turned back to him, realizing that his grin meant she'd gotten it right. "Hat." He nodded.

So excited about such a simple word- her first real word of American English- she didn't notice as Timothy slipped his arm through hers, pulling her just a little closer, casting a protective glance behind them as a group of Italian dock workers passed by, headed for their homes in Little Italy.

* * *

Ziva was having fun. Every evening when Timothy walked her home from the factory after their shifts, they would stop and study the flyers hanging in windows or on the sides of buildings; they were diligent in their lessons, keeping up with them, even when they got out of work later than normal.

In the four short months that she'd been in America, Ziva had learned a great deal of English, and found a good friend in Timothy. There had been initial complications when she'd first introduced him to Ari, who'd assumed the young Irishman was intent on courting his little sister, but after Timothy had explained that they worked together at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, and he had offered to walk her home at night after their shifts. Ari, realizing that the younger man had nothing but good intentions towards his little sister, relented, allowing the two to continue walking home from work.

It was close to early March when Ari decided that Timothy could also walk Ziva too work as well- especially since he himself had been given earlier hours at the docks, meaning he wasn't able walk her to the factory. Most mornings, they also walked Timothy's younger sister Sarah to the Garment district, where he would leave her with a hug and kiss, promising to come get her after work. Ziva took comfort in the child's constant chatter, memories of Tali holding tight to her skirts, begging her not to go at the back of her mind.

With her long, light brown curls, Sarah looked like her brother- she possessed the same vivid green eyes as Timothy, something Ziva found startling and curious. She'd never seen people with eyes of their color, and wanted to know all about them. As par Ziva's curiosity, she often found herself asking to meet Timothy and Sarah's parents; perhaps it was the longing to be with her own family again, or the desire to feel a mother's warm embrace, even if the woman wasn't her mother. But either way, whatever the reasons behind her asking, Timothy always politely declined, often replying with,

"But what would they think if you came home to meet them, Ziva?"

* * *

She quickly glanced around, but there was no sign of Timothy one early March morning. Perhaps he had tired of walking to work with her-

 _Yes, that has to be the reason. You talk to much; he simply tired of it._

By the time she reached the factory she found the other girls on the eighth floor gathered together around a newspaper. Taking a seat at her table, she turned to one of the other girls, a young blonde immigrant from Sweden named Ellie, confused as to the chatter going on in the normally quiet room. "What is going on?" Ellie turned to her, a single strand of blonde hair having fallen out of her bun to cling to her neck.

"There was an accident."

"Where?"

The Swedish immigrant bit her lip. "At one of the textile factories in the Garment district. One of the little girls got hurt." She glanced over her shoulder, to make sure the floor foreman, Mr. Dearing, wasn't watching. From what Ellie could tell, he wasn't even there yet. Quickly, she leaned close. "At the Shepard textile factory."

Ziva paled; that was the factory Timothy's little sister-

"It was Sarah McGee. Timothy did not come in today. I guess Sarah got hurt really badly."

* * *

She knew the route to Timothy's home by heart by now. She made her way up the four flights of stairs and down the hall, knocking softly on the door when she reached it. She waited, tangling her hands in her skirts... for several minutes, there was no response, before the door was suddenly wrenched open. "Yes? Ziva?"

She gave him a small smile. "Is... is Sarah all right?"

He seemed to deflate slightly, leaning against the doorway. "You heard?"

"Everyone at the factory did." A moment passed, before he sighed; she was genuinely concerned about the girl, and after several seconds, he stepped aside, allowing her entrance into the tiny apartment. Ziva looked around quickly. "Will she be all right?"

He sighed. " _Mams_ and _Da_ are both at work; so I've had to stay to stay home with Sarah while she recovers."

Ziva nodded. "May I see her?"

It was the first true smile she'd seen since showing up at the apartment door. "Sarah would love that."


	5. Chapter 5

**Rifiuto: N** **on Miri** **ena**

The little girl was pale against the darkness of the blankets she lay within. Ziva's heart instantly went out to the child, and she knelt down by the bed, dark eyes searching the child's face. Being tender, she reached out, brushing her fingers against Sarah's cheek; the movement caused the girl's eyes to flutter open. "... iva?"

" _Shalom, Sarit_." Green eyes flickered with confusion, before realizing it was just a simple greeting in the older girl's native tongue. "How are you feeling?"

The child swallowed, struggling to sit up; Ziva rushed to help her- and realized exactly how Sarah had gotten hurt.

On Sarah's left hand, she was missing the top digit of her middle finger and the middle and top digits of her index finger, crudely amputated thanks to the heavy weight of the mule spinner as it sliced through her fingers as she was working to knot broken threads. Gently, Ziva took the girl's hand, pressing a kiss to the amputated digits, thinking all the while of Tali, safe though she was miles away back at home with their parents.

"How are you doing, _Sarit_?" The child sniffled, tears suddenly coming to he eyes as Timothy joined them, a cup of just barely curdling milk in his hand, which he gave to the girl, who sipping it slowly, savoring the taste. She held it out to her brother, pushing it into his face, but he gently pushed it back to her.

"Drink, Timmy."

"No, Sarah. That's your milk. You need it." Ziva watched the exchange, suddenly understanding. While the conditions she and Ari lived in were bad, the conditions within Hell's Kitchen were ten times worse for the Irish. The few Irish she knew- mostly other girls who also worked on the cutting room floor with her- lived sometimes four families to one apartment, with very little food and clothing to keep them warm in winter. The money they were bringing in went towards the rent and heat and, if there was any left, food. But now that Sarah had gotten hurt-

"You need it too, Timmy." Sarah protested, once more pushing the cup towards her brother. _"Le d'thoil?"_ He glanced at Ziva, before taking the cup and reluctantly taking a sip. The sight brought a smile to the girl's face, and Ziva realized how such a simple action as taking a sip of milk pleased the child. Timothy then set the cup on the orange crate they used as a nightstand, and shifted Sarah until she lay back among the ragged pillows. Ziva scrambled out of the way, watching as he tucked the threadbare blankets about the girl and kissed her forehead.

"Get some sleep, Sarah."

* * *

"Thank you, for coming by today, Ziva. I know Sarah appreciated it."

The young Jewess looked up at him. "Did you not appreciate it, too?"

He chuckled softly, blushing. "Yes, I appreciated it too."

They then lapsed into silence as they sat on the fire escape outside the apartment window. There was a line of washing hanging between the McGee's fire escape and their neighbor's; Ziva recognized the faded pink dress on the line as being Sarah's. Though it was faded, she could still see the dark blue flowers printed on it. "When are you going to come back to work, Timothy?"

He met her gaze, and then glanced behind him, back into the apartment where Sarah was sound asleep. "Not 'til Sarah's healed enough to go back t' work."

"But... but you will not get your wages!" He shrugged.

" _Mams_ and _Da_ are both workin', so... we can make due until I go back to the factory. But Sarah... she has no one to take care of her." Ziva bit her lip, reaching into her shawl; the measly few dollars she'd made for this week's pay was warm in her hand. It wasn't much, but it would buy her and Ari the basics. Five pounds of flour to make bread, a half gallon of milk and a dozen eggs, some fruit from the vendors...

 _But Timothy and his family need it so much more. There is only the two of you, until Ima and Abba can come over with Tali, and that will not be for a while, and besides, Ari has made it clear that he will pay for their tickets; he has been saving up since before you came to America. Six dollars would buy Timothy and his family eggs and fruit and milk for Sarah... and maybe a new pair of stockings for her..._

She glanced at Timothy; his green gaze was fixed on the street below them, the weight of the world on his shoulders. At eighteen, he probably never imagined the strain he'd feel at being forced to care for his family; true, his parents wages probably helped, but ultimately, it had been Timothy who'd been helping support them while he'd been in America, long before they came to join him.

 _No, you can't give him the money, he will never accept it. Besides, you and Ari need it... but Ari has understood how important Timothy is to me; he has allowed him to walk me to and from work, he knows that Timothy is a gentleman..._

"Timothy?" He turned to her, and Ziva saw for the first time, the strain in his green gaze. She held out the money; he glanced at it, realizing what she was offering, and gently pushed it back.

"No, Ziva. That is yours, I can't take it from you." And without another word, he climbed back into the apartment.

"But Timothy! This is enough that you could... you could buy milk and eggs and... and flour for bread!"

"Ziva!" He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her gently. "Thank you, but I can't. You need that money for you and Ari... so you can bring your family over."

He then let her go, making his way towards Sarah and gently tucking the blankets the girl had managed to kick off in her sleep back around her. "But you need it more than I do." He turned to her, getting up and guiding her to the door. Once there, he gently pushed her out into the hallway.

"Thank you for caring about us, Ziva. But we will survive; we've survived this long. You have to, too." Then, he pressed a kiss to her cheek and slipped back inside, shutting the door softly behind him. She stood in the hallway for several minutes, staring at the closed door, startled, before reaching up and gently brushing her fingers over the spot on her cheek where he'd kissed her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Rifiuto: N** **on Miri** **ena**

Ziva found herself grateful for Sundays. Not only was it the Sabbath, but she had one day away from the factory.

This Sunday, however, she found herself in the street, headed towards the vendors who still came out despite the day of rest, hocking their wares. As she walked among the carts, gaze going to the fruits and vegetables waiting to be purchased, she kept her other hand safe in the pocket of her apron. The six dollars she'd tried giving to Timothy yesterday was still hot in her hand.

She stopped in front of a vendor selling fruit, looking it over before moving away, towards the grocery a few feet behind the man. She slipped inside, moving about the small store before stopping in front of the eggs. From her lessons with Timothy, she was able to figure out that a dozen eggs were twenty-seven cents. If she bought that, a half gallon of milk and a sack of flour, she could make bread- enough for her and Ari, and still a couple loaves left over for Timothy and his family. Yes, that's what she would do-

As she reached for a carton of eggs, another woman grabbed it, and she turned. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you." She quickly stepped back, startled by the nice dress of the woman standing before her. In a long, black skirt and white blouse, she wore a fitted jacket, open on her shoulders, and her long, black hair was pinned up in a nice twist; Ziva noticed that her buttoned boots even shone. Clearly, this woman was from money. "Were these what you were-" But the woman stopped when she noticed that Ziva had lowered her eyes and backed away.

It was clear the girl had been taught where her station in life was.

She said something in a language the woman didn't understand, holding the eggs out to her. But before she could respond, a man joined them, slipping his arm through the woman's. "Abby, are you ready?" He turned, noticing Ziva, and quickly nodded towards her. Ziva, for her part, kept quiet, and quickly fled the store without a word, leaving the pair looking after her.

* * *

She returned to the store after darting across the street, watching from a safe distance as the couple- for clearly, they were together- as the couple left, heading out of the Lower East Side for Little Italy. But what confused her, as to why a woman of clearly good standing- if her clothes were any indication- was involved with a man from the lower classes.

Glancing quickly behind her, Ziva dashed back across the street and into the store, grabbing the things she'd decided on earlier and then, once she'd paid for the items, left, hurrying home. She was already going to be in trouble for being out on the Sabbath, her people's day of rest, but she was certain Ari would understand.

Ari was still at synagogue by the time she returned home, and Ziva knew that he'd be there most likely all day, leaving her time to work on the bread and get her own prayers said. She set everything down on the worn table, and after saying a quick prayer, asking God to forgive her after she explained her reasons for breaking the Sabbath, she got to work.

The apartment soon smelled of fresh bread and a warm oven, and it was with a soft hiss that she removed the last loaf just as her brother stepped through the apartment door. "Zivaleh, you have been baking." She looked up, blowing at a wayward strand that had managed to escape her bun and hung in her eyes.

" _Ken_ , Ari. I know it is the Sabbath, but..." She swallowed, turning to her brother. Ari quickly removed his coat, tossing it over one of the worn chairs. He reached over, gently folding her shawl; the couple dollars she had left from her trip to the grocer's tumbled out onto the table, and he turned to her.

"Zivaleh?" His sister sighed, turning to him, tears in her eyes.

"Sarah McGee got hurt. At the factory a couple days ago, Ari. She lost two of her fingers... I know the money should have gone to food for us, but... but Timothy, he... he has had to stay home from the factory, and with Sarah hurt and not working, things are harder. I... I figured if maybe... maybe I made some bread and took some fresh milk to them, that it might... might help..." She burst into tears, soon finding her brother wrapping her in his arms.

Ari gently rubbed her back; he knew how important the McGees had gotten to be to her. Timothy looked out for her as they walked to work, and Sarah had been a shining light, giving the teenager a chance to be an older sister again, what with Tali still with their parents, clear across the ocean. And, if he were honest with himself, Ari was grateful to the McGees; they looked out for Ziva when he was working multiple shifts and treated them both as though they were members of the family, willing to share the meager rations they had with the _Da_ vid siblings, and had even invited them over on the holidays, where they Mr. and Mrs. McGee would share stories of County Cork, and what it had been like growing up in Ireland as children.

Timothy, for his part, always seemed to back away, fleeing to the fire escape when his parents started to talk of the old country, for though he'd been thirteen when he came to America, his memories of County Cork were few. Both Timothy and Sarah had been born in Dublin, and they had only ever been to County Cork to visit their grandparents- and those visits had been few and far between. It wasn't the _an Gorta Mór-_ The Great Hunger, as the Irish called it, the potato famine- that had sent the McGees fleeing the Emerald Isle, but labor disputes- the beginnings of what would later become known as the 'Lockouts', where the labourers were locked out of their places of employment. Timothy's father had worked the docks for exceedingly little pay, so how the family had managed to survive-

After a moment, Ari pulled away, gently brushing the tears off his sister's cheeks. "Go on. Take a couple of the loaves over to Timothy and his family. I know they will be grateful for them, and for you, Zivaleh. Just like I am." He kissed her forehead before letting her go.


	7. Chapter 7

**Rifiuto: N** **on Miri** **ena**

 **A/N: I'm so sorry, life got in the way.- Licia**

 **Thanks to Reader aka Sun Samurai for reviewing 4, 5 and 6, and MusicWithinMe for reviewing 6.**

The door opened and Ziva found herself staring into Timothy's startled green eyes. "... Ziva, what..."

She glanced down, lifting the corner of her shawl off the loaves she carried. She'd had enough flour from what she'd bought that afternoon to make about ten small loaves- thanks to _Ima_ 's bread recipe, the same recipe she'd memorized by heart by the time she was eight or so. Her mother had a way of taking very little ingredients and making them go a long way; the loaves, for instance, might be small in size, but they were hearty and lasted for weeks, mainly because her mother had always kept them wrapped tightly and stored in a basket in the darkened cupboards of their kitchen. Long-night bread, _Ima_ had called the loaves, for when there was nothing else left in the house, the bread was always there, and could last for days if cut in small slices.

"I... I brought you some... some bread." He glanced down at the loaves in her arms, before stepping aside and allowing her inside as his mother helped Sarah out of the bed. She brought the girl into the kitchen area and sat her down in one of the chairs before moving to work on her daughter's hand.

"Timothy, love who- oh, Ziva, _'ow 'ave ye'_ been, dear?"

"I am fine, Mrs. McGee. And you?" Despite her thick Irish lilt and age, Kathleen McGee appeared as young as a schoolgirl. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a twist and her green eyes- the same eyes both her children possessed- still held a glint to them, despite the obvious hardships she'd faced in her years on the earth. Yes, Mrs. McGee was quite the Irish beauty.

Kathleen McGee sighed, gently brushing a strand of hair out of Sarah's eyes as the girl took a seat at the table. "Better."

"What is that, Ziva?" Sarah asked, pointing to what the older girl held. The young Jewess gently removed the loaves from her arms, setting them on the table. Sarah let out a delighted squeal, clapping her hands excitedly, despite the pain in her amputated fingers. "Bread!" She turned to her mother. " _Mams_ , Ziva brought bread! Is it for us?" She asked, turning back to Ziva, completely unaware of the tears in her mother's eyes.

" _Ken_ , they are for you. I bought some flour and eggs and some milk today, and was able to make a few loaves. They are my _Ima_ 's recipe. She calls them 'long-night bread'-"

"Why?" Sarah asked, reaching for one of the loaves, but Timothy quickly moved to slice her a small piece.

"Because if you wrap them really well and store them in a basket in a cupboard, and there is nothing left in the house after all the food is gone, the bread will still be there."

"What do you tell Ziva, Sarah-girl?" Timothy asked, setting the knife down. The child quickly set down her slice of bread and got off the chair, rushing towards the older girl.

" _Go raibh maith agat, Ziva! Thank you_!" Ziva smiled softly, reaching down and gently stroking her fingers through Sarah's hair. That the girl could react so strongly to such a simple gift knotted her stomach, and if Mrs. McGee's response was anything to go by, then clearly she'd done the right thing, bringing the bread over. Mr. McGee was even smiling; it was only Timothy who kept quiet.

* * *

"Ziva!" She turned to find Timothy rushing after her; once he reached her, he gently draped her shawl over her shoulders. "You didn't have to bring the bread."

"I wanted to." She reached out, taking his hand and squeezing gently. "Besides, did you see how happy it made _Sarit_ , and your parents?" He sighed, glancing down at their joined hands, before slowly pulling away. "Timothy, what is wrong?" He shook his head, teeth sliding out to bite his bottom lip. "I just wanted to help-"

"And I am grateful, Ziva, but how am I going to repay you? I-" She reached up, taking his face in her hands when she realized he was going to start rambling.

"You do not need to repay me, Timothy." And then, without a word, she rose onto her toes, brushing a soft kiss to his cheek. When she pulled away, his green eyes were wide, mouth open in shock. She studied him, giggling softly. It took a moment before he finally shook himself of the surprise, meeting her gaze. Ziva soon felt a blush appearing on her cheeks, and she moved to pull away, when he grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back to him. Their mouths met; soft and gentle, an introduction of two hearts and a slow acceptance of a mutual attraction that had been growing from that first meeting months earlier. Her eyes closed on instinct, and after a moment, she reached up, wrapping her fingers in his shirt and pulling him closer. His hands slid until his fingers laced together, and they rested against the middle of her back, his fingers playing with the worn material of her dress.

When finally they parted, he blushed, swallowing thickly. "I should not _'ave_ done _tha_. _I'ma_ sorry, Ziva."

She giggled, the thickness of his accent making his embarrassment all that more enduring. "I have never been kissed before." She glanced down to find her hand tangled in the fabric of his shirt. "You must have kissed plenty of girls, however, back in Ireland." It was his turn to laugh softly.

" _Nev'r_." She raised an eyebrow. "I spent _me_ days _workin'_ the mills in Dublin _t'_ make money for food. I _nev'r 'ad_ time for girls, let alone time _t'_ spend _kissin'_ them."

A light seemed to flit through Ziva's dark gaze. "You may kiss me, Timothy. If you have time."

He blushed, a small smile on his features as he pulled her closer. "I think I _'ave_ time."


	8. Chapter 8

**Rifiuto: N** **on Miri** **ena**

 **Thanks to Reader aka Sun Samurai for reviewing 7.**

 _Early-May, 1910_

 _Manhattan Island,_

 _New York_

She slipped down the stairs, hurriedly tucking her cloak about her shoulders and tugging on her gloves. If she could get away fast enough, she'd be able to meet him before he went to the docks and be back in time for breakfast. And if not, then she had to try-

"Where are you going?"

Her back went rigid, and slowly, she turned to find her young charge standing feet from her, still in her nightgown. The girl's long red hair was a tangled mess down her back, and she held tight to a small doll. A sigh escaped the woman's mouth and she knelt down before the girl. "What are you doing up? It's still dark out; which means little girls need to be in bed." The child made her way towards her.

"Can I come with you?"

"No. I will not be gone long, Kelly. I promise."

"You are going to meet him, again, right, Abby?" At merely six-years-old, her young charge was exceedingly bright, and she often kept the young nanny on her toes. Born and raised in the French Quarter of New Orleans, Abigail Scuito had been sent up to New York by her mother at the tender age of eighteen, in the hopes that she would fare better in the North than the South. From then on, Abby had gone from household to household, caring for children before finally ending up with the Gibbs's, back in early aught-eight, to care the Gibbs's then four-year-old daughter, Kelly. In the nearly three years she'd been with the Gibbs's, Abby had gotten to be quite close to both the girl and her mother- she was Shannon's companion and her daughter's confidante.

The woman bit her lip, drawing the little girl closer. "Yes, Kelly, I am. But you cannot tell your Mother, remember?"

The girl nodded. "Our secret." She replied, holding up a hand, her pinkie crooked. After a moment, Abby slipped her own pinkie around the girl's, before bringing their hands close and pressing a soft kiss to their linked fingers.

"That's my good girl." She stood, scooping the child into her arms and carrying her back upstairs. Once she'd tucked her into bed and kissed her goodnight, Abby slipped out of the house, hurrying for the docks.

* * *

It was just her luck, that she'd gotten turned around.

Somehow, someway, she'd ended up in the Jewish corner of Manhattan Island, amid the peddlers and worn apartment buildings where families often lived two to an apartment. Despite the early hour, people were out, heading to work or setting up their carts; and right away, she knew that if she tried asking for directions, she would receive stares and nods of confusion, for the predominant language was Yiddish or Hebrew.

If she just kept moving though, then she'd be bound to find the docks-

She stopped, to see a pair walking along the sidewalk, clearly headed to work. And then, they stopped, turning to each other. From her vantage point across the street, she realized that perhaps they could help her, and so hurried towards them. But as she closed the gap between her and the pair, the young man slid his arms around the girl's waist, pulling her flush against him. He said something in English, and the girl responded in a language she didn't understand, before rising up on her toes. The girl tangled a hand in the fabric of his shirt, whispered something that made him laugh, and then stepped back, catching herself as he leaned down, his mouth meeting hers.

The young nanny stopped, suddenly embarrassed to be witnessing such a private moment. A soft squeak of surprise escaped her throat, and she quickly covered her mouth as the couple quickly broke apart; their heads snapped towards her, and, instead of fleeing, she moved towards them. Instantly, the man stepped in front of his companion, meaning to protect her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" She stopped just before the man; the green eyes the man bore caught her by surprise, and it took her a moment to shake the feeling. Despite his young age, he was certainly handsome, with beautiful green eyes- a 'Son of Ireland' as her boss was prone to saying of the thousands of Irish immigrants that passed through Ellis Island and onto the streets of New York every day. Mr. Gibbs didn't hate the Irish; he merely found them curious. "Um, actually-"

But the younger man stepped closer; she caught sight as his hand laced with the girl's behind him. "Go back _t'_ your nice home. We aren't _'ere_ for you _t'_ gawk at."

"I don't mean to gawk, I just... how do you get to the docks? I... I'm afraid I've gotten lost."

* * *

"You did not tell me your names."

The trio was making their way to the docks where Abby was to meet him. She glanced at the couple; he had his hand loosely laced with the girl's- clearly, there was something boiling beneath the surface for the pair, something neither chose to acknowledge. Or if they did acknowledge it, they kept it secret from everyone around them. "I'm Abigail. But everyone has always called me Abby. I'm from Louisiana. New Orleans."

Silence met her.

"Where are either of you from?"

The couple shared a glance, but kept quiet. "I'm a nanny. I look after the Gibbs's little girl, Kelly. I've looked after her for nearly three years. She's the sweetest little girl in the world. Long red hair, like her Mama, and big blue eyes like her Papa-" She stopped, when she realized neither was listening. They were sharing glances, seeming to have an entire conversation between themselves.

Eventually, they reached the docks-

"Abby!" She looked up, to see a young man rush towards her.

"Tony!" A smile tugged at her lips, as she threw her arms around his neck. Once he set her back on her feet, Tony pulled away, turning to the couple who'd brought her to the docks. The girl was staring out at the great ships and boats and various workers with wide dark eyes; clearly, she'd never seen something this massive before.

"Who are they?" He nodded to the couple, and Abby turned.

"I got lost, they were kind enough to bring me here. They wouldn't tell me their names." Without a word, the Italian made his way towards the young Irishman, who was watching the girl as she drank everything in; their hands were linked, and he refused to let her go to far that would result in their grips breaking.

"Thank you." The younger man looked up, meeting his gaze. Tony held out a hand. "I was s'posed to meet Abby earlier, but couldn't get away. I get off shift soon. I'll take her home. I just... wanted to thank you for looking out for her. Both of you."

"Welcome." The younger man's Irish wasn't as thick as most of the immigrants, which suggested to Tony he'd been in America for a while, but the soft lilt was still there.

"I'm Anthony DiNozzo, by the way. But call me Tony." A moment passed before the younger man reached out, shaking his hand.

"Timothy."

"And... who's this beauty?" Tony asked, nodding as the girl returned to Timothy's side. "She your sweetheart?" The younger man started, turning to his companion.

"My _sweet'eart? Ziva_?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Rifiuto: Non Miren** **a**

 **Thanks to Reader aka Sun Samurai for reviewing 8.**

The young Jewess cocked her head to the side; the sight of this new man before her bringing her curiosity boiling to the surface. She turned to Timothy, who was staring at her in surprise, and she furrowed a brow. A quick glance between Timothy and this new man sent her mouth dropping slightly, as she struggled to think of the right words for her question.

"Timothy?"

He quickly shut his mouth, turning back to the Italian. "Ziva is _no'_ my-"

But the older man- for he appeared to be only a few years older than Timothy- just raised an eyebrow. " _Tesoro_? I think she is."

Ziva turned back to Timothy, squeezing his hand to get his attention. "What is wrong? Timothy?" The young Irishman sighed, turning to her. He whispered softly to her, and she furrowed a brow, confused, before he clarified,

" _Leannán_." At her continuous confusion, he clarified. "He thinks that I am- that I am sweet on you."

"I... do not understand, Timothy."

The young man sighed, and with a blush tinting his cheeks, he moved closer, leaning down until his lips brushed her ear. "He believes that I like you." Her eyes widened, and she pulled away to meet his gaze.

"And do you?"

His gaze darted to the others, and after a moment, he pulled her closer. "A... _Aye_ , Ziva. I do. So... I guess... I am sweet on _ye_."

It was her turn to blush, and she reached up, tangling a hand into his shirt, as she met his gaze. "I am... s... sweet... on you... too, Timothy." The words felt foreign on her tongue, but right, and she bit her lip. Not caring about their audience, she rose onto her toes, but he pulled away briefly.

" _Wha'_ will Ari think, Ziva? We are of two entirely _diff'rent_ faiths... from _diff'rent_ countries. _Yer_ brother will _ne'v'r_ approve."

A moment passed, as she let his words sink in, before whispering,

"I am in America now; Ari will understand."

Their lips met in a soft kiss, and Tony leaned towards Abby, who'd quickly hurried to his side, slipping into his embrace. "I knew he was sweet on her."

* * *

"They are sweet."

"Who?"

Abby turned to her companion; they had returned to the Gibbs's, after leaving Timothy and Ziva to their own devices- he had been in the process of walking her home when Abby had stopped them- and though both were fairly quiet, it was Ziva, the young Jewess, that seemed to start building the bridge between the four, for her curiosity got the better of her. She had never heard of a dock worker, or had any idea of what they did or what their relation to the ships in the harbor were, and so Tony had proceeded to explain- through a series of words, hand gestures, and simple translations from Timothy- exactly what his job was. As for Abby, Ziva was able to quickly deduce what the young Louisiana-born woman did for a living; since Abby had been talking nonstop about her young charge.

But as soon as they learned that both Timothy and Ziva worked at the Triangle Factory, a dark silence had permeated the area. The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory was known for its cramped quarters, locked doors and windows, and suspicious history of being burned down. It was also well-known throughout the working class that the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory had numerous anti-worker policies, forcing their workers to work long hours for very little pay. That these two young, vibrant teens- for they were both barely out of their teenage years- were working at such a death trap-

"Timothy and Ziva." She replied, hands on her hips. A moment passed, before Tony nodded.

"Right. Yes, I guess they are... sweet. Certainly on each other."

Abby rolled her eyes, and slipped her arm through his again before they continued on. "We should invite them for dinner."

Tony turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "Dinner where, exactly? Neither of us are rich, Abby, despite the fact that you work for a wealthy family."

"Coffee then. Or tea." She amended. "So that we may get to know them better."

"So that _you_ might get to know them better, you mean."

"No, I-"

"I _know_ you, Abigail." Tony replied as they continued on. "When you find something fascinating, you need to learn everything about it. But these are not your... newest authors or songs, Abby. They are people."

"But I want to get to know them."

They stopped and he turned to her. "But they may not want to get to know you." Then, with a soft, lingering kiss, he bid her goodnight, watching to make sure she got in before heading back to his side of the city.

* * *

"Abby?"

The door shut softly, and she tiptoed towards the bed, to find the child sitting up, watching her. "You are supposed to be asleep, Kelly." The young woman replied, kneeling by the bed. "I told you I would be back before breakfast. Now lie back down. It is still dark; the sun has yet to pull back the blankets, as my mother would say."

"The sun has blankets?" Kelly asked, yawning as she lay back among the pillows, and Abby chuckled softly.

" _Mon chéri, oui_. Just as pianos have teeth and tea pots sing. Now-"

"Did you see him, Abby?" She stopped stroking the red locks, surprised by the child's question. A moment passed, before she resumed her work.

"I did."

"Was he happy to see you?"

"As happy as I was to see him."

The child yawned, shifting onto her back. "Did you kiss?"

"Now where did you learn that-"

"Mother and Father do it all the time." Kelly replied, watching her nanny. Abby sighed internally; of course her parents did. It wasn't uncommon for her to walk into a room and find Mr. Gibbs and his wife sharing a kiss, but that Kelly saw it-

"Yes, Kelly, we did kiss. And I also met another very nice couple, who showed me how to get to the docks when I got lost."

"Who?" Abby sighed, thinking.

"Well, the young man is named Timothy, and he is Irish, and his sweetheart's name Ziva." She stopped, realizing that the girl was finally asleep. Quickly, she leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to the girl's head before slipping out of the room and shutting the door behind her. "Sweet dreams, Kelly."


	10. Chapter 10

**Rifiuto: N** **on Miri** **ena**

 **Thanks to Reader aka Sun Samurai for reviewing 9.**

They stood outside the door to Ziva and Ari's apartment, suddenly unsure of how to act around each other. The fact that the Italian- Tony, he'd said his name was- had pointed out that they were sweet on each other made them both wary of where they went from there. Timothy glanced at Ziva; so maybe Tony was right, and he _was_ sweet on Ziva. Massively sweet on her. But it wouldn't matter.

He was an Irish Catholic, and she a Jew- two faiths that should never ever mix.

They would be pariahs, cast out of their faiths for even entertaining the very idea of a mixed marriage.

 _"Irish don't mix with non-Irish, Timmy-boy."_

His grandfather's words rang loud in his head, and he glanced at her.

"But why shouldn't they? This is America, where people of all faiths and backgrounds come to start over and create new lives for themselves? We are in America now, why can I not marry a Jewish girl someday?"

Ziva's head snapped up, and she furrowed a brow. "Marry?" Timothy met her gaze, suddenly realizing that he'd spoken aloud.

"I... I..."

She stepped closer, her shawl slipping from her shoulders. "You... wish to... marry me, Timothy? _Nisu'in_? With me?" Her dark eyes widened. "You with to enter a marriage with me?" Her heart sped up, and she swallowed, suddenly overwhelmed. He shook his head quickly.

"No! Ziva, I-" Her face fell, and she stepped back. A sigh escaped his lips. "Ziva, I... in my culture, you _d' no'_ marry outside _th'_ Catholic faith. _T'_ marry anyone, _esp'cially_ a Jew-" He stopped, seeing the hurt in her eyes. Her shawl fell to the floor, and he knelt to pick it up. After shaking it out, he draped it gently over her shoulders. "I am sweet on you, Ziva. _V'ry_ much, so." She met his gaze, when he moved back around to face her. "I..." He stopped, taking a deep breath, before reaching out and taking her hands. He'd been considering this for months, ever since the night of her first English lesson and even more so after Sarah's accident, but- " _'twould_ like _t'_ court _ye_ , Ziva. If... if _yer broth'r_ permits."

Dark eyes moved to their joined hands, before moving to meet his gaze. Court her? She had never been courted before. How long had Timothy been considering this? Was it just recently? Or for a long time? They had only known each other a few short months- was that really enough time before beginning a courtship? And what would Ari say? And Timothy's parents? Sarah would be thrilled, but Mr. and Mrs. McGee-

"You... want to ask... Ari for permission." She whispered, gaze latching onto his. "To... marry me?"

He shook his head. "Not marry. Court. With... with the intent t' marry. Someday. When we're ready."

"I do not understand, Timothy. You wish to court me, _ken_?" He nodded. "So... why must you ask Ari for permission?"

"Because," He murmured softly. " _'tis_ only proper."

Ziva moved closer, sliding herself into his arms, her small hands tangling in his shirt. She bit her lip, glancing at the worn material before moving her gaze up to his face. "You... intend to marry me someday?"

He swallowed, suddenly nervous, and nodded. "If permitted, _aye_."

"And... this... courting, it will... help us towards marriage?"

Another nod. _"Aye."_

"So... if you intend to one day marry me, do you not think it... should be _my_ permission you seek, instead of my brother's?"

Timothy swallowed, biting his lower lip. "I want _t'_ do _righ'_ by _ye_ , Ziva." She waited. " _An' tha'_ means _askin'_ Ari's permission."

"Permission for what, Timothy?"

The young Irishman paled, and slowly, two pairs of eyes turned to see Ari standing in the doorway.

* * *

" _You cannot marry an Irishman, Zivaleh! It is against our faith, and his!_ "

"That is not fair, Ari! We are in America now! I am an _American girl now_ , not a Jewish girl!"

"You will _always_ be a Jewish girl, Ziva! Whether in America or not, you will always be Jewish! What would _Abba_ and _Ima_ say? To discover their daughter married an Irishman?" Ziva glanced over at Timothy, who leaned against the wall by the door, trying his hardest to disappear through the wood. She turned back to her brother.

"I would hope," She took a deep breath. "That _Abba and Ima_ would accept me as much as _Timothy's parents accepted us, Ari_."

Ari sighed, rubbing his temples. He was getting a headache. It wasn't that he was strictly against the courtship, or marriage if there was one; he greatly liked Timothy and knew that the young man would do all he could to provide for his little sister, but it was a matter of faith, not person. Had their faiths not played such a drastic part, he could overlook it, allow it, but the staunchness of Timothy's faith and the rigidness of theirs-

"Zivaleh, please, try to understand-"

"I am an American girl, Ari! And Timothy, he is an American boy! I thought we came to this country for a new start! All of us!" Tears glistened in her eyes as she moved towards her brother, and dropped to her knees in front of him, folding her hands and placing them into his lap as he sat at the table. "Please, Ari. We are asking- begging- for permission." He sighed, meeting his sister's gaze. "I love him."

"Ziva, you do not even know what love is!"

"I know that it is happiness! And that Timothy makes me happier than I can ever imagine being! We will learn to love each other, Ari, please! We are already family in a way, so let it become true some day. Please. Ari, I am American now, I want to experience everything it has to offer, even American love; let us _learn_. _Please_."

She buried her face in his lap, and after a moment, he reached down to stroke her hair, her sobs breaking his heart. The sound of the door opening caused his gaze to shift from his sister in time to see Timothy nod goodbye and slip out of the apartment, making his way home.


	11. Chapter 11

**Rifiuto: N** **on Miri** **ena**

 **Thanks to nourseholly for reviewing 1.**

The air was chilly, but Timothy didn't notice. He was quiet, careful not to wake his parents as he settled on the fire escape. A sigh escaped his throat, and he leaned back against the cold brick by the window, his eyes closing.

Meeting Anthony DiNozzo today was perhaps the worst thing to ever happen to him.

Tony's comment had forced him to gather his courage in regards to something he'd been too frightened to even consider until that night. He'd been wanting to ask Ari it he could court Ziva for some time, but could never find the courage. Why would a beautiful girl like Ziva ever want to be courted by a lazy Irishman like himself anyway? Technically, from what he understood of the Jewish faith, a matchmaker was supposed to find a suitable match for a girl like Ziva. And if no matchmaker was available, then it was up to her brother.

And if what he'd witnessed tonight was any indication, Ari would never give his blessing.

All because he was Catholic and she was Jewish.

"Timmy?" Sarah climbed through the window, joining him on the fire escape with a blanket. She scooted towards him, and he wrapped the blanket around them, allowing his little sister to snuggle into him.

" _Ye_ need _t'_ be in bed, Sarah."

 _"Bu' yer_ lonely, Timmy." She replied. He sighed. "Are _ye_ sad?"

 _"Aye, a lit'le."_

"Why?" He kept quiet. " _'tis_ it _'bout_ Ziva?" He stiffened, before pulling away to look at her. " _Ye_ like _'er._ "

"'ow did ye-"

" _Ye_ look _a' 'er th'_ same way _Da_ looks _a' Mams_." She snuggled back into her brother's embrace and Timothy sighed, wrapping his arms around her. For such a young child, Sarah had the wisdom of the gods- exceedingly perceptive, she often understood things adults didn't, and more than once often spoke what everyone else feared to. The sister he adored was wise, far too wise beyond her young years. " _Ye're_ in love _wit' 'er._ Ziva." Sarah murmured with a yawn, the sound of her brother's heart in her ear slowly putting her to sleep. As he adjusted his hold on her and slipped back into the apartment, he knew- and feared- that Sarah was right.

* * *

Ziva lay in bed that night, tears drying on her cheeks. Ari had not given her a definitive answer, simply telling her that they had to keep to their faiths, because in the end, that was all they could count on. Eventually, both siblings had gone to bed, however sleep eluded the young woman.

Had Timothy always wanted to court her? Clearly, he had always been sweet on her, just as she was on him, and they'd danced around it for months, until Anthony DiNozzo had pointed it out. What if Ari said yes? Would there be more than a courtship? A wedding possibly? Would they have their own small apartment, where they would live as man and wife? Where they would create children and raise them? A life of their own?

Here in America.

Where, if they worked hard enough, they could make their dreams come true.

After a moment, she slipped out of bed, quickly getting dressed and grabbing a shawl before slipping out of the apartment and hurrying silently down the stairs.

* * *

Her feet knew the way by now.

She had been to the McGee's often enough that she could find her way without help, even by moonlight. Eventually, she came upon the building the McGees lived in, and moved around to the side, searching for the window with the fire escape-

And there he was, sitting alone, staring at the moon, lost in thought.

"Timothy. Timothy!" He didn't hear her. She glanced around for several minutes, before moving towards the ladder that hung several feet off the ground. There was no way she could reach, but she didn't need to. _"Timothy!_ " He looked up at her whisper, and after several minutes, got up and leaned over the railing.

"Ziva? _Wha'_ are _ye doin'_ here?" But before she could respond, he shook his head. " _Ne'er_ mind. One moment." Eventually, he joined her on the ground, tugging her into the shadows beneath the ladder. " _Wha'_ are _ye doin'_ here, Ziva? _'Tis_ late."

She met his gaze, her arms going around his neck, as tears gathered in her eyes. "Ari. He... he will not give his blessing. He says that... that faith is all we have, and... all we will ever have. That... that we are too young and... that we do not know what love is... that even though I am in America now, _Abba_ would want me to marry a good Jewish boy..." She buried her face in his chest. "I do not want to marry a good Jewish boy, Timothy. I may be young, but I know that this is love- this happiness I feel with you." He slid his arms around her waist, holding her close as she burst into tears, Sarah's words ringing in his head.

So perhaps he was in love with her, or at least, _falling_ in love with her. Either way, he knew that he would never feel for any other girl- certainly not a good Catholic girl- what he felt for Ziva. Never in a million years. Silently, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his mind working overtime.

A courtship was different to marriage. A courtship was getting to know each other before marriage. But since Ari would not give his blessing-

 _No, you canna do tha'. 'twould break Mams's hear', if ye did. And Da-_ He tightened his hold on Ziva. _Bu' if no one knew-_

Slowly, he pulled away from her, lifting her chin and gently brushing her tears away with the ball of his thumb. "Hush, Ziva. Please, _d' no'_ cry."

She met his gaze. "Wh... what do we do, Timothy?"

He sighed. He had an idea, but couldn't bring himself to say it. Instead, he pulled her into his arms, holding her close. "I _don'_ know."


End file.
